Gifts
by musicalways99
Summary: Éponine doesn't like accepting gifts, and Enjolras isn't used to receiving them, but they somehow end up giving each other everything. Enjonine with background Courf/Jehan, plus everyone else. Modern AU.


The first thing he gives her is his words.

Éponine, smoking a cigarette, sits in her usual spot against a concrete wall. It's not very comfortable, but she likes it because the acoustics are perfect for listening in on the college kids' activism group every Friday night. She's never met them, hardly even seen them, but she knows their voices and names by heart. The one who doesn't seem to care much, Grantaire, is her favorite; his drunken ramblings are more often than not the highlight of her week. She hears Marius' high-pitched tone at the meetings less and less as he spends more time with his new girlfriend (and of course she's blonde, of all things, I mean Éponine doesn't like to be prejudiced but how perfect is it that she's fucking blonde); it's probably for the best, because Enjolras, the one in charge, doesn't seem to like him much.

She hears him, Enjolras, every week, seemingly with a new obsession for each meeting. She listens to his speeches on everything from LGBTQ+ rights to the university's rising tuition prices, growing steadily more passionate as the night wears on. Éponine makes it a point to educate herself afterwards on each and every topic on her shitty dial-up, sometimes reaching into the morning hours. She's definitely not the type to be fascinated by such things, but Enjolras' words appeal to her near-empty wallet. Though she has serious doubts about his plans (a barricade? Is this 1832?) he definitely has a point. Anything that can get her out from behind a Starbucks counter and into a better apartment, she can get behind.

And she has. Literally. Éponine Thénadier is no stranger to the concept "you sleep with me, I give you stuff." She doesn't need the rich businessmen, the college students wasting tuition money, even the bored housewives looking for a bit of excitement, but what can she say? It's a release for a while, and she can use the extra cash. She never planned to do this with any of Les Amis, as the activist group is called, but one day the opportunity presents itself. As she puts out her cigarette and flicks it at the opposite wall-there is a host of dark stains on the bricks there-all the guys come out of the bar, an hour earlier than usual. In the still-shining sun she sees their faces clearly at last, and immediately matches Enjolras' name with his look. This is the first time any of them sees her, too, and Enjolras does the usual double-take at her in the alley. The look of I-feel-bad-for-you-but-I'm-trying-not-to-show-it-b ecause-I-don't-want-to-offend-you is a familiar one. He pulls out a few twenties from one of those fancy stainless-steel wallets and all but shoves them in his friends' faces, spouting something about paying for drinks that Éponine is sure he never touched. Even in this instance, the enticing theme of equality makes its way through, and Éponine breaks a small smile as the other students begrudgingly accept the money. Who is she to resist a challenge?

* * *

The first thing she gives him is a distraction.

Enjolras sighs at his protesting friends. They're moaning something about a killer party tomorrow night, they have to be ready for it, et cetera et cetera. Courfeyrac is just yelling something about a miniature horse and a cart full of beer cans when he gives in. He has a paper due on Monday, and though he doesn't care much about school, he doesn't much want to fail the class. Everyone cheers as Enjolras helps the bar staff collect all the glasses. There are times where he feels like he has to parent the other guys. Especially now, when Grantaire has organized an impromptu, and increasingly violent, game of what seems to be a combination of musical chairs and duck-duck-goose. It's only about seven when they finally get kicked out.

Out on the street, he begins his weekly begging to waste more of his father's money on his friends' alcohol intake. He catches a glimpse of a girl, around twenty, he guesses, smoking in the alley and his speech falters, then strengthens. As much as he hates assigning a cause to a singular person, this is exactly what he is fighting for. The other guys accept the bills, and he glances at the girl again. She looks a bit familiar, he muses. Where have I met her before? It takes hours of tossing and turning that night, playing back the five seconds he saw of her, before he remembers that Marius was talking to her outside of the bar once. Happy to have figured out the puzzle, and happy to have a small distraction from the ever-increasing pressings of the causes, he drifts off.


End file.
